


Bleed for What

by JackBivouac



Series: Dungeon Online [5]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work, Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game), Sword Art Online (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Bestiality, Bondage, Execution, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Humiliation, Impregnation, Interspecies Sex, Knotting, Multi, Other, Prisoner of War, Rape, Sexual Slavery, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-02 02:30:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19432069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackBivouac/pseuds/JackBivouac
Summary: A new threat rises in the fledgling nation of Dodge, a player corrupted and controlled by Dungeon Online's extremely amoral AISomeone asked about an explicit campaign, so this is a take on that. Stage 5 is an adventure for players levels 10-13 deviating/derived from a Kingmaker campaign. Chapters containing graphic rape are titled "Contains Rape."





	1. Contains Rape

Ovinrbaane, Enemy of All Enemies, raped his or their newest slave into submission atop the stone coffin of his last host. Maya, that was what his new host had once called her.

Now, she was Fuckmeat, squirming and crying under him as his dick tore her pussy walls apart with thuds and squelches. Thick bands of orange magic spread her kneeling legs and bound her bent arms to her back and chest, holding her in the position of the bitch in heat that she was.

Ovinrbaane gripped her round the neck in one hand, the other clutched around the sword at his side. He closed his grip around her neck, sending her eyes bulging and tongue lolling as he choked her. The slave’s pussy likewise choked around his cock, squeezing him in the tight, wet heat of a deathgrip. 

Ovinrbaane groaned. He shoved her bound chest down against the lid of the tomb and fucked her in a brutally pounding animal mount, choking and raping his slave bitch into unconsciousness.

Fuckmeat’s entire body jerked and spasmed under him, cumming again and again around his cock. Each wave of forced ecstasy squeezing her unconscious pussy tighter and tighter around his dick.

Cum exploded from his the tiny hole in his head into her thirsty womb. Her womb and pussy sucked him dry for every last drop of impregnating seed.

Once he'd pumped her full, the conqueror pulled out of his fully subjugated conquest. By that time, the entirety of his undead army of bloody skeletons had gathered in vast, natural cavern of this tomb. They obeyed his every thought, binding his impregnated slave in ropes this time to the bones of Zore, his dire tiger mount.

"It's been a long time, old friend," he said, rubbing his knuckles against their boney cheek. Despite the blood that seeped like tears from their eye hollows, Zore burned with eager conquest. 

Ovinrbaane smiled darkly. "Too long. Today, we ride once more."

He vaulted astride the tiger's back, his slave trussed like the sow that she was at his knees. He raised his black greatsword, a living extension of his arm and spirit. His silent army beat their own swords against their bones in a thundering pulse.

"I am Ovinrbaane, Enemy of All Enemies! Death to all who do not bow!" he roared.

His army roared back with blade upon bone. Zore reared rampant. The tiger charged through the stone tunnels up from the belly of the earth. They burst through the doors of the tomb, carved directly into the stone of a cliff.

There to meet them with arms were two riders, a man and a woman reeking of soft wealth and nobility. Each was followed by a ten-strong team of mounted guards, a paltry force at best.

Ovinrbaane's undead horde ripped through their ranks like a tiger's claw through a rabbit's flesh. Those who did not flee were cut down in a flurry of blood and steel.

The conqueror roared victorious. His minions clamored steel against bone.

These fallen few were the first. They would not be the last. The bloody rise of Ovinrbaane, Enemy of All Enemies had only just begun.

#*#*#*#*

Duke Sangra and Duchess Dodger didn't stop riding until they'd reached the nearest green-ringed safe zone on the map. The Dryad's Glade was still ass-deep within the Greenbelt, but at least they didn't have any dying and reforming skeletons to worry about by this tree-ringed pool.

If Sangra were being honest, the tranquility was as jarring as it was welcome. He dismounted with a heavy sigh. "Clearly, we shouldn't have checked out a location called 'Armag's TOMB' without a cleric."

"Hey, I thought you were bringing Her High and Mighty Priestess," Dodger shrugged, jumping down by the pool. She splashed her dirtied face and body with the formerly pristine water.

"Kel had to check out the disturbance in Keleton. That's her town. I thought that would've been obvious. Well, what's done is done. Next time, I'll send a falcon so we coordinate."

"Ha, yeah. There's no way we're taking another corrupted player down alone."

That was right. The game had corrupted another player. First that god-damned Knight of Thorns, now this necromantic warlord from the bowels of Dodge. What, did the game want them to kill each other?

Sangra leaned hard against a tree, crossing his arms over his chest. His mouth twisted into a wry grin. "Maybe we shoulda timeskipped this time."

"Pbfft, like I'd toss off everything I've built just for a quick level up." The duchess pushed up into a long stretch. "Like you would, too."

Dodger may've been the quintessentially dumb fighter, but she had a point. The rogue had worked too long, too hard, and too honestly over the past fifteen years to just disappear and these glitched players wreck havoc.

"Next time, a falcon. Speaking of, we should be getting back to the cities."

"Yeah, if they're still standing," Dodger joked.

For some reason, just that light-hearted suggestion sent a queasy roil through the duke's gut.


	2. Contains Rape

Duke Sangra returned to his stronghold within the young city of Sangaritaville with the heat of midday sun upon his back. He rode up the winding gravel path through the outer courtyard to the large stable on the inner wall. As he passed his steed to a stablehand, his servants raised the fifteen-foot gate of cold iron, bane of feykind.

Steward Numesti stood on the other side of the courtyard, her long fingers folded but restlessly tapping each other nonetheless. “My Lord, we’ve received a falcon from Baron Banan.”

All the blood drained from his from face. He hooked the half-elf’s arm in his and pulled them toward the grand hall. “Walk with me.”

His right hand of many years and still as spry as the day they’d met, she said nothing until they’d reached the strength and stillness of the long, red and black hall. Sangra leaned his elbows heavily against the round meeting table upon the nobles’ dais and gave her sharp nod.

“The message came this morning, shortly after you and the riders departed. An army of trolls has stormed Bananopolis. Baron Banan calls for aid.”

Oh, fuck. “I’ll go at once.”

Trolls, that was fucked, at least where Banan was concerned. The sorcerer had been held captive by the trolls fifteen years ago shortly after they failed to take the first timeskip. Scarred them for life.

But just as he pushed off the table, duke and steward both turning back to the doors, the doors opened. A grim-faced Kel, High Priestess of Pharasma, strode past the alternating-color banners, her boots echoing on the stone tile. 

She was followed by five players new to this world of the game between questlines. The gamertags beside their floating green diamonds named them as “Tanger,” a fighter; “Daffi,” a rogue; “Cyber” and “Amet,” two shifters; and “Ochre,” another bless-ed, bless-ed cleric.

“We’ve got an undead horde roaming the land, and Banan’s under attack by trolls. What’s the situation in Keleton?” asked the duke.

Kel, frozen at the dump of bad news, pried her clenched teeth apart to answer in a tear-choked whisper. “I don’t have a town anymore, Sangra. They’re gone, they’re all gone.”

“Kel, I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head, fists curled at her sides. “We have to help Banan.”

“We can’t leave the city without a cleric.” Sangra looked at the five behind her. “But if the trolls have taken Bananopolis, we could use an infiltration team.”

“I’ll go,” said Daffi, the rogue.

“I’d better come to back you guys up,” said Tanger, the fighter.

“Thank you,” said Sangra. A four-person team of the highest-level rogues, cleric, and fighter in Dodge. They’d be able to get in and out of there without anyone knowing the difference. Or fight their way out if they got caught.

He smiled tightly at the others. “Defend the city while I’m out, ‘kay?”

As long as they stayed in the city, the duke knew there was nothing to worry about. All they had to do was let Numesti point them in the right direction.

#*#*#*#*

Bananopolis was a cozy village nestled in a large forest clearing by Thorn River. It was also, presently, on fire.

The Knight of Thorns rode his or their green-haired mare through the streets of flaming cottages. Fifteen-foot, green-scaled trolls dragged screaming survivors out from the smoking doorways to kill, bind, or rape. Sometimes, all three.

The Knight simply held his chin high and kept his gaze on the wooden fort flaming at the heart of the village. Such were the atrocities of war, but all these colonizers had asked for it when they stole these lands from the fey. 

For years, he had warned them of the possibility of full-out war. Now, he had the allies and resources to make that threat a reality. If only his Lady could see him now. By the Green Queen, she would be proud.

The grunt of a dog, slap of flesh, and gag of a throat heralded the presence of Baron Banan. The troll-phobic sorcerer was on their knees, chest to the floor, and fully mounted by a three-hundred-and-fifty-pound trollhound slamming its dick into their knotted anus. Each gut-punching beat hammered full-bodied spasms into their stripped and bound body.

Their arms had been wrenched behind their back, palms bound together to prevent them from spellcasting. More coarse rope bound their thighs to their calves in a frog-tie that left their feet twitching and jerking as the knotted trollhound nailed them in the ass and the troll leader squatting in front of them stuffed the full length of their throat with his giant cock.

The Knight jerked his chin at his new ally. The troll's fist knotted in Banan's sweat-tangled locks. He raised the baron's head just high enough off his scaly balls that their eyes met the Knight's, leaking tears and bulging in the primal terror of the eternally scarred.

"Brings back memories, doesn't it?" said the Knight, his voice as cold as ice. "How do you like Hooktongue's clan? They're quite a step up in power from Hargulka's. In brutality as well, as I'm sure you're all too eager to discover."

He nodded once more. Hooktongue grinned. He shoved Banan's whimpering mouth to the base of his cock. The sorcerer's choking throat wrapped vacuum-tight around his dick, their anal walls clamping likewise around the fist-sized knot tearing them apart.

Troll and hound exploded into Banan's choking, writhing heap of bound flesh. Their belly swelled with cum from the holes at both ends, the troll's excessive seed spewing from their nose.

Hooktongue stepped out of the unconscious baron's mouth, making way for the next highest-ranked troll in the crowd. The hound, however, true to its animal nature, continued pumping its knotted bitch full of seed.

"Thanks for the assist," the Knight told the troll leader. "Stay as long as you like. You've earned the R&R."


	3. Contains Rape

As Duke Sangra, High Priestess Kel, Tanger, and Daffi rode out from the stronghold, two falcons flew past them overhead, just as Sangra had instructed. Steward Numesti was sending one to Dodge City. It was a long shot, but it might reach Duchess Dodger to deliver their infiltration plan.

The second was an even longer shot. Numesti used what little magic she had to attempt to guide the falcon toward Dodger herself. In all likelihood, Baron Banan had messaged both of them for aid. Which meant Dodger was on the move herself, with her own crack team of fighter-centric aid.

Sangra wasn’t a religious man, but his eyes closed for a few seconds as their horses galloped out from the city limits toward the Greenbelt’s rustling, whispering treeline. He prayed speed upon those falcons from any force or deity this world had to offer.

They rode all evening and into the night to arrive just before dawn. By the light of the troll’s campfires, there was no mistaking Bananopolis’ altered outline. 

The village had been razed to the ground. Where once stood cozy cottages were now heaps of black, smoking rubble. Here and there, an especially sturdy timber or two itjutted up from the ground like the fingers of a buried treant.

The occupying trolls were in a festive mood. Drums beat around the campfires. Trolls laughed over the pained grunts and agonized cries of the captives left alive for vile entertainments. In short, it was easy for the rogue and his company to sneak through the treeline, creeping closer toward the razed fort.

The whinny of a horse froze Sangra and his team in their tracks. They looked back, certain they’d left the horses safely behind. Their eyes widened in fear and recognition.

“CHARGE!” roared Dodger, riding up into the troll camp followed by ten riders wielding flaming pitchforks.

Of the course the falcons hadn’t reached. Of course no force or god in this world would ever allow the duke to be so lucky. Now that gods-damned fighter had tossed off their plan.

“What do you want us to do?” asked Daffi.

“The trolls will be on guard now, but we have to keep going,” said Sangra.

There was still a chance they could reach Banan before the trolls abandoned camp. As long as it wasn’t up to the gods.

#*#*#*#*

Forcing the baron to be knotted by the trollhound and swallow the seed of every troll in the warcamp simply wasn’t humiliating enough for their most unfortunate prisoner. They unbound their arms. But to keep the sorcerer from casting, they smashed the fingers of both hands underfoot.

The trolls tied the weeping Banan’s arms once more, forearm to bicep so that the sorcerer’s ruined hands dangled uselessly by either shoulder. Hooktongue himself gave Banan a swift kick in the ass, forcing their prisoner to totter around on the elbows and knees of their bound limbs like an animal.

The leader of the trolls whistled high and sharp, gathering the green-scaled hounds. “Your bitch is in heat, boys!”

The trollhounds responded in kind, knotting in this furless, stumpy-limbed bitch’s mouth and anus. Hooktongue kicked the whining, shrieking prisoner in the ribs. 

All three fell over. The dogs righted themselves first, forcing Banan onto their back, knees and elbows flailing helplessly between the dogs pistoning into their knotted throat and anus.

A third dog, a bitch, straddled the sorcerer's stomach and sat her hindlegs down on their hips, sheathing the full length of Banan's cock into her canine pussy in a single motion.

Banan choked and gagged on the knotted dick in their mouth, their eyes bulging as the bitch humped her clenching cunt over their dick in a fury of wet heat. Her tight, squeezing walls sucked the cum from their cock.

Banan's debased body snapped into a shuddering arc between the hound in their throat and the hound up their ass. The dogs shot their loads into their shameful bitch, swelling their stomach.

Hooktongue was too preoccupied by the approaching fires to witness the moment of the dogs' completion. The mortals had come for their worthless cum toilet of a baron. So worthless they weren't worth taking with them alive. As a dog's chewtoy, however… 

Hooktongue whistled a different note, flipping the hounds into attack mode. Banan, still in the throes of their shameful ecstasy, half-moaned, half-screamed as the dogs ripped them apart into portable pieces.

#*#*#*#*

The attack was over before it ever truly started. Sangra and his team reached the leader's camp at Hooktongue's second whistle. The rogues and fighter sunk their blades into the wall of his bodyguards, Kel at the ready with healing and finishing fire.

They could only watch, blocked in horror, as the trollhounds tore the captured sorcerer apart before their eyes. Hooktongue, the bastard, grinned all the while, even saddling his horse in retreat.

Half the trolls in the village followed their fleeing leader, the rest of their clan fighting and dying to keep the humans from following. They disappeared into the Greenbelt.

As the last body burned in Kel's fire, Sangra threw down his blades. He sank to his knees in the ashes of Banan's wooden fort. He didn't bother to raise his head at the sound of armored footfalls.

"Sangra…" That was Dodger's voice. He hadn't heard it so shaken since the death of Akiros, their first NPC friend. "I'm so sorry, Sangra. This is all my fault. I'd dealt with trolls before. I thought it'd be the same!"

He raised his eyes to those of the fighter, blinking in confusion. Until he saw the falcon perched upon her arm.


	4. The Fell Sword Ovinrbaane

Duke Sangra gathered his team and left the duchess in the ruins of Bananopolis to do as she wilt. That was obviously the only thing the untrustworthy bitch would ever do.

The ride back was quiet, somber. Sangra maintained his silent mourning vigil for the next few days, speaking only when required to as the duke of Sangaritaville. Kel and Numesti, his last true friends, kept the new players from disturbing him.

At night, he left his study for the balcony. He leaned on the rail, gazing upon the odd pinprick of light from the sleeping city below. A sharp, avian cry shattered the cozy stillness.

The rogue jumped but held his arm aloft to receive the arriving falcon. Duchess Dodger had not sent apologies.

“Sangra, the undead horde has taken Fort Akiron. Please, send help.”

He crushed the scroll in his shaking fist. Of course that dumbass fighter would finally learn how to use a falcon when it benefitted her, personally and exclusively. 

Sangra let out a long, cooling breath between his teeth. Fort Akiron was a small but critical outpost for the duchess, essentially controlling access to Shrike River's southern waterways. It could only be approached by water or the dense forest beyond its high, palisade wall.

Which the sheer mass of undead must have compromised. That was perfect, actually.

The rogue took up his ink and quill. "Tomorrow, high noon, from the woods. Don't attack until you hear the falcon's cry."

He tucked the new scroll into the carrying case of a fully rested bird. He watched the falcon fly south into the night with a grim smile on his lips.

#*#*#*#*

Dodger paced the floor of her great hall from dusk until dawn, stopping only whenever she caught sight of Steward Kisandra. Each time, the younger woman shook her head. Until she didn't.

Kisandra burst through the side door, running over the golden wings of dawn light cast upon the floor. A falcon perched on her arm.

Dodger ran to her, the two skidding into one another and nearly conking heads. Only the falcon remained professional, barely raising its ruffled feathers.

The fighter needed only to touch the note to pull its words into a pop-up, but fifteen years in this game world had taught her that there was something special, personal even, about reading another's handwriting. Sangra's was small, tidy, and efficient.

"We got our cleric!" Dodger high-fived her steward. "Ready the riders. We got some undead butt to kick."

#*#*#*#*

The trees of the Greenbelt, a vivid, living green under the noonday sun, rustled with the sound of a thousand whispered breaths on the western face of Fort Akiron. To the east, its reflection fell dark and shimmering upon the controlled waters of the Shrike River.

Dodger's horse stamped and snorted under her. One hand stroked his sweating neck. The other flexed just as restlessly around the hilt of her falchion. Seconds stretched into a sweltering, suffocating eternity.

Sangra's party was nowhere in sight, which meant nothing between the trees this thick. The fighter could barely see her own riders.

A falcon's cry pierced the bated air. Dodger roared to life, raising the tip of her blade to the fallen wall of the fort. "FOR BANAN!"

Dodger charged, the head of a screaming wave of vengeance.

The undead met them in the dusty arena of the courtyard. They poured from every tower and door, bleeding from their eye sockets.

Dodger and her riders cut them down in droves, but for every ten undead felled, one rider fell. They did not rise, healed and hale. Neither did any holy magic blast through the skeletons to stem their bloody tide.

The fighter reared her horse, searching the battlefield. The only green diamond in the courtyard was her own. There was no healer. There was no Sangra.

"MotherFUCKER!" Duke Dick-butt had stood her up! No. He'd let her come here to… 

The fighting fell back into a wide ring around Dodger and the approaching, glitched player. The leader of the undead sat astride the skeleton of a dire tiger. He raised a black greatsword at the duchess.

"I am Ovinrbaane, Enemy of All Enemies. You are a worthy for, so I give you a choice. Kneel or die."

Dodger gripped the hilt of her falchion in both hands. "I don't kneel to mindless pawns like you, tiger-fucker!"

With a mighty roar, she charged. Ovinrbaane simply raised his free hand, closing his palm into a fist.

The horse froze under his rider, held in bands of orange magic. Dodger was thrown from her saddle, right into the mounted warlord.

The fighter swung her sword, twisting the air. Her blade scraped down the slashing length of the black greatsword. The tiger's fangs crunched through the bones of her leg.

Dodger roared in pain, her leg tearing at the knee. Her side slammed into the hard-packed earth of the courtyard. Ovinrbaane drove his blade through the center of her back, staking her to the dust.

The fighter sputtered blood. Red pooled under her. With the last of her strength, she shoved her sword up past her shoulder where she could no longer see but remembered where the warleader's leg should have been.

A sharp kick knocked the falchion from her weakening fingers. "You should have kneeled."

Ovinrbaane brought down his sword. Its guillotine blade chopped through to break the dirt between her head and shoulders.


	5. Contains Rape

With the death of their leader, the battle ended as abruptly as it had begun. Ovinrbaane sent his skeletons to finish off the survivors. He returned to his new stronghold before the height of the afternoon full of a different raging lust.

He’d strung his impregnated bitch up the great hall. A sorcerer, he’d left her arms bound behind her back, but a chest harness held her parallel with the floor, leather slings keeping her bound, bent legs spread behind her. 

Ovinrbaane rubbed his knuckles on top of her bowed head. He spun her around, grabbing her by the hips. His cumslut grunted as his cock penetrated the pursed mouth of her asshole, twitching to life in her bonds.

Day after day of rape had left Fuckmeat’s every hole swollen and sensitive. Ovinrbaane’s dick ripped her anal walls apart, turning her pathetic grunts to whimpers. Her overstimulated anus clamped around his cock in seconds.

Drool slopped from her mouth to the floor. Fuckmeat’s dangling body seized into rigid quivers in the harness, squirming and jerking like a dancing puppet. Fuckmeat let out the high, nasal whines of a mounted bitch.

The conqueror laughed mercilessly, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of her asscheeks while he slammed her tortured ass into tighter and tighter spasms around his dick. Her lolling head bounced with his powerful strokes, her drool splattering all over the floor. Water squirted from her impregnated cunt. Her anus seized Ovinrbaane’s dick like a vise.

He grunted on the edge of his rut. The doors of the great hall burst open behind them. Skeletons poured forth from every side at the intruders, silhouettes in the mid-afternoon sun. As Ovinrbaane shot his cum toilet’s ass full of seed, a pulse of holy magic blasted his skeletons to ash.

Metal scraped against sheath as a fighter drew his falchion. He charged into the hall, flanked by two shifters growing into bear humanoids as they ran.

Ovinrbaane growled viciously and pushed Fuckmeat off his cock. Black blade in hand, he spelled bonds of orange magic around one shifter, throwing them down at the feet of the other chargers.

The two tripped over their companion in a heap of stupid muscle. Skeletons surged at them, but another holy blast disintegrated them into billowing ash. 

The accursed cleric stepped over the fallen, the fate-spiral of Pharasma raised in her hand. She glared at the conqueror. "You're finished, you poor, glitched bastard."

The venom in her words was not hatred. It was pity.

"I'm going to cut off your head and fuck your skull you insolent slut!" Ovinrbaane spat.

From the shadows, a dagger slashed deep across his naked back. Followed by the surgical tip of rapier, stabbing through his heart. The conqueror looked down in cold, numbing shock at the needle-like blade poking out from between his ribs.

The voice of death itself hissed into his ear. "You're awfully talky for a dead man."

Duke Sangra kicked the dying warlord off his rapier. His black greatsword clattered to the ground.

"Don't...touch sword," the captive player 'Maya' choked behind him. "Cursed as fuck."

"Nobody touch that cursed-ass sword!" the rogue repeated, louder, as he cut her free. He caught her before she fell as well, scooping her up into his arms.

The remaining skeletons had frozen at attention, but the blood had dried from their empty eyes. High Priestess Kel raised her holy symbol and blasted them to ash without a second's hesitation. 

Sangra, along with Maya, Tanger, Cyber, and Amet followed Kel on her trail of cleansing into the courtyard. The ash-mingled dust flowed so thick that for several minutes, Sangra lost sight of everyone but himself. 

When the dust finally settled, they found Kel kneeling by a head and body. They may have been obscured by ash and dirt, but there was only one corpse here that would've given her pause.

"No, oh god, she didn't wait for our signal," the rogue breathed. He broke into a coughing fit.

"It's fine. We have her body, and I have a diamond saved at the cathedral," said Kel, chilling Sangra to the bone with each encouraging words. "I can just bring her back to life."

"You, ahem, you can do that?"

"Since the last level-up, yeah."

Shit.

**Author's Note:**

> Reincarnated into furry druids who died AGAIN in Stage 4:  
> Cardinal, cleric, he/him  
> Garn, fighter, he/him  
> Amber, rogue, he/him or they/them  
> Seafa, shifter, they/them or she/her  
> Jade, sorcerer, they/them or she/her
> 
> Real deathed in Stage 3:  
> Steel, cleric, she/her  
> Rasery, shifter, he/him  
> Byza, cleric, they/them  
> Tyrian, fighter, they/them  
> Vilet, rogue, they/them  
> Crimson, sorcerer, he/him  
> Gira, cleric, they/them  
> Parake, fighter, they/them or she/her
> 
> Real deathed in Stage 5:  
> Banan, sorcerer, they/them  
> Rust, sorcerer, he/him or they/them


End file.
